


How To Properly Glomp: A Guide By Yuri Plisetsky

by mayazero



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 4+1 fic, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cute, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Glomping, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Burn, dj!otabek, lots and lots of glomping, model!yuri, though they're still skaters here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-05 22:39:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11023059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayazero/pseuds/mayazero
Summary: Four times Yuri glompedhis way intoOtabek’s heartand the one time Otabek finally did something about it.





	How To Properly Glomp: A Guide By Yuri Plisetsky

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Otayuri Reverse Bang 2017!!! Art made by the wonderful [mygays-inspace](https://mygays-inspace.tumblr.com/) and beta-ed by the amazing [tuples](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuples)([tumblr](http://eclair.tumblr.com/)).
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy :)
> 
>  
> 
> [Say 'Hi' maybe???](https://fyvkthisshyet.tumblr.com/)

The first time it happened, Otabek had been completely taken by surprise.

It had been a few months after they became friends. When the skating season ended, they began a habit of exchanging various video and internet calls, tagging each other on social media, and sending each other care packages.

It was during one particular night, when a completely battered Yuri had greeted him in Skype after a grueling session on the ice, pitifully moaning about how much of a demon Yakov and Lilia were. Yakov had turned Yuri’s training regimen even more intense in lieu of Viktor’s return next season, because winning a gold in the GPF, another gold at the Europeans, and a Silver at Worlds doesn’t automatically mean one could easily defeat Men’s single’s skating’s reigning King.  It was then that Otabek finally offered something he had thought about since the last time they saw each other.

“How about you come to Almaty?” he asked, completely having caught the blond teenager by surprise, as evident when the other dropped his phone to his face. Otabek could only lightly chuckle as he listened to the Russian throw curses in two different languages. When Yuri finally righted his phone, Otabek continued, “I could show you around my haunts and might even manage to sneak you inside a club I occasionally DJ at. The ones that are for minors, of course.”

When Otabek had divulged his favorite pastime, Yuri had completely gone over the moon. Yuri had Otabek swear to bring him to one of his gigs, as well as asked him to pick out music for Yuri’s exhibition skate - which turned out a little disastrous and they both had been on the receiving end of Yakov’s intense scolding. Though Yuri honestly hadn’t cared about it and even Otabek’s coach had been nonchalant, generally letting Otabek do whatever he wants as long as he brought Kazakhstan good results.

As expected, Yuri’s expression brightened with the suggestion. Otabek couldn’t help mimic the other’s dazzling  smile as he started mentally planning their itinerary. He would make sure that Yuri gets to experience the best of Kazakhstan – with special attention to Medeu.

Otabek was almost done with planning when Yuri’s expression suddenly crumpled, his usually vibrant verdant eyes turning glassy.

 _“Yakov won’t agree though,”_ the Russian teen sulked. _“Not especially after I flew to Japan last year without permission.”_

That hadn’t deterred Otabek in the slightest.

“Then I’ll fly over to St. Petersburg,” he stated, mind never been sure. He had already resolved that he would be spending part of his off season with his ~~best~~ friend and nothing was going to change his mind.

Otabek was resolute -  a certain trait his father found exasperatingly admirable about him. They were right when they said he was very much like his mother and grandmother: nothing could ever sway them once they had made up their minds. (His grandfather, on the other hand, had been really proud of that attitude – stating that revolution was finally coming to the Altins, a family that had been ruled over by dominating women for over more than a century.)

Yuri stared at him incredulously, blinking rapidly. _“What?”_ the blond breathed.

Otabek smiled at him. “I’ll come to you instead. Take me to all your favorite places.”

Yuri’s eyebrows furrowed in response, mouth twisting into an angry snarl. _“Please don’t joke with me – I’ll fucking strangle you! Distance and computer screens be damned!”_

Otabek’s smile softened into a fond one. “I don’t doubt that for a bit but yes, I’m serious. My coach did give me a month off in celebration for winning Silver at 4CC and bronze again at Worlds.” He paused after that, a thought flitting into his mind. One that he had never considered before. “Or maybe you don’t want me to…?”

If it was possible, Yuri turned angrier at that, face steadily gaining color and eyes darkening. _“If you take all those back I swear I’ll fly over there in Almaty just to murder you.”_

Otabek couldn’t hold in the laugh that bubbled inside him, which just made Yuri _even_ more furious. It took all his might to contain it just to huff, “That’s fine too. Either way would bring you to me.”

He had expected more angry noises and curses from the other line, and had actually already prepared himself to contain his laughter when he was greeted with absolute silence.

Otabek couldn’t help but look at his computer screen, confused.

“Yuri?” he inquired, getting quite worried with how red the other’s face had turned. If the color was faint on his cheeks earlier, this time it dominated Yuri’s entire face.

That made Otabek’s heart drop to his stomach in trepidation. Had he crossed a line?

The Russian teen finally snapped out of whatever it was when Otabek called his name for the second time. Dread eating Otabek further. Oh dear, was this already the end of their budding friendship?

His father had been right. Otabek should definitely have his brain to mouth filter fixed. It has already gotten him into a lot of serious trouble that his reputation could barely get him out of.

Much to his relief, the blond (who seemed to be so red in the face) had merely muttered a _“Send me your flight itinerary, I’ll pick you up at the airport. Now I need togosleepbye!”_ that had been too low and fast Otabek almost hadn’t caught it. Fortunately he did.

Unfortunately though, he hadn’t been fast enough. Yuri had already dropped the call when Otabek finally deciphered it, leaving him no choice but to hastily text a “I can’t give you an itinerary. I’ll be flying privately. I’ll text you instead when I leave.”

He only received a reply the next morning, a rather frustrated _“Fuck you rich boy,”_ that honestly should have offended Otabek but had only made his heart swell with affection for the boy who is more than a thousand kilometers away from him.

And it had only swelled further when Otabek had finally arrived at St. Petersburg’s airport, finding himself already tackled before he could even fully greet what seemed like the entire Russian team sans Yakov and Lilia waiting for him at the arrivals. He had stiffened in shock.

Otabek had never expected to be greeted this way. Especially not from Yuri

His friend seemed to have ignored the sudden stiffening of his body – that, or he had not just noticed it at all. Yuri had merely tightened his arms and legs around him as he murmured at the crook of Otabek’s neck, “Hurry up and get us out of here. I don’t want those assholes intruding.”

Otabek was only able snap out of his surprise when Yuri mercilessly bit him on the neck, then  growling ominously to the Russian team (with an additional Japanese) behind him who had all simultaneously gasped scandalously when they witnessed it.

Otabek had retaliated by running right through them, surprising all of them into shock.

Yuri’s delighted laugh and joyous, “ _Dasvidanya_ , assholes!” matched with an inappropriate finger raised was what finally had them all scrambling to follow Otabek and Yuri. After all, Yakov and Lilia had strict orders to never let the blond Russian teen out of their sights.

Much later, at a coffee shop near the Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood, Otabek and Yuri would delight at the video uploaded by one of Viktor’s fans. It had that balding old man and the rest of the pesky bastards (a.k.a. Yuri’s rinkmates) getting chewed out by the dragon lady.

 

* * *

 

The second time, it had been when Yuri visited Almaty, a year after.

They hadn’t seen each other for months, and had scarcely been in contact at all due to conflicting schedules. Otabek was now slowly getting popular as a DJ and had a lot of gigs. Yuri, on the other hand, started venturing towards the modeling world in lieu of his recent massive growth spurt and, as expected, had taken it by storm. When they finally got a chance to have a simple call, Yuri had been quick to make demands.

The Russian skater had been in the country for a photo shoot, would only be there for a week, and had endlessly nagged Otabek to drop by at least once at the shooting location.

“I’ll see,” Otabek replied, “I have to check with my manager if I could clear sometime within this week.” His parents had insisted he get one, so that he won't have to deal with all the hassle that comes with trying to fit in his occasional gigs with his skating schedule.

Yuri loudly whined on his end of the phone line, tugging out a soft smile from Otabek that he was glad the other couldn’t see. There was a huge possibility it would create all sorts of complications, and Otabek wasn’t sure if they were both ready for it. _“Goddamn it, you bastard! I could hardly recall the last time we met!”_

Otabek allowed himself a fond chuckle, chest expanding a little bit from the annoyed huff of breath the other released in response. “I know, Yuri, and I’m sorry about that.”

 _“Yura!”_ the Russian teen hissed, suddenly making Otabek feel lightheaded. He was sure this probably wasn’t good but honestly? He has yet to find the reason why.

Otabek probably should, really, for the sake of his sanity.

“Yura,” he repeated, voice considerably warm, finding himself feeling so much that he could barely contain it. _Oh why the hell does this feel so good?_

At the other’s satisfied huff, Otabek had barked a laugh.

 _“Seriously though,”_ Yuri said again, this time his voice low, _“It_ has _been a long time. I…”_ Otabek found himself breathing in with anticipation. Could it be…? _“I miss you, you horrible bastard.”_ Yuri really fucking said it. Otabek could feel the air forcing its way out of his chest too fast and hard he has to exhale faster and harder just to catch up. _“And I swear if you don’t make this disgusting feeling stop I’ll fucking disown you.”_

How the hell was Otabek supposed to react to that?!

That prompted another round of endless negotiations with his manager and a _major_ rearrangement of his schedule before he cleared two days off of it.

It was just his luck that his free days had been  around the time that Yuri's photoshoot ended. Apparently the Russian skater had taken great pains at being extra obedient and amicable just so that the staff could hurry up with the damned thing. Yuri wanted to crash either Otabek’s practice or one of his gigs.

Otabek himself had only found out about this when _he_ ambushed the blond the morning after the other’s shoot, at the café the Russian teen admitted had become his favorite.

Otabek should have seen that glomp coming but still, he had frozen in surprise once more when Yuri jumped at him, lean legs and arms now longer than his, happily wrapping around Otabek. He didn’t seem mindful of the various squeals suddenly erupting around them and the flashes of camera. Those were all ignored.

Otabek was left awkwardly standing upright, arms frozen in the air, hovering over Yuri’s body.

As expected, like the first time it happened, Yuri paid it no mind and had continued to squeeze the life out of Otabek as best as he can. Otabek couldn’t even find it in himself to react.

“You fucking bastard, _you_ ,” Yuri laughed in absolute delight, leaning slightly back to stare at Otabek with those twinkling peridots, smile absolutely joyous. “I _really_ fucking hate you, you know.”

That finally loosened the knots in Otabek’s muscles, finding his arms snaking around Yuri, hugging the body in his arms just as hard as Otabek had been hugged.

“I know,” Otabek murmured over the crook of Yuri’s neck, voice the softest it has been. His chest swelled even further when he noticed how rapidly Yuri’s neck reddened.

There seriously was no feeling better than this.

 

* * *

 

The third time it happened wasn’t technically the third time as the year before, Yuri had taken to glomping Otabek at any chance he got. But he counted it as the third one that meant something.

Otabek had been in Japan for that, having flown there for other Yuuri and Viktor’s wedding.

 _“You have to be there, Beka,”_ Yuri had whined to him a week before, during one of their regular skype calls. The Russian man had been on a break in the middle of yet another photo shoot, while Otabek had just woken up after a gig the previous night. _“You can’t just leave me to suffer through the shitstorm known as their wedding!”_

It took Otabek a few embarrassing seconds to process that. He was entranced by the sight of Yuri looking practically like a fairy: his face had been brushed in varying shades of greens, yellows, and reds; lips glossed highlighting their natural pinkness; and his long silky flowing hair had been curled slightly, various flowers in different stages of bloom woven into it.

So this was the specific photoshoot Yuri had complained about the other day.

Otabek honestly failed to see what was wrong with it.

“As much as I would love to be your knight in shining armor again-”

_“Then what are you waiting-“_

“I wasn’t invited,” he bluntly stated, cutting off whatever Yuri was about to say.

It was suddenly quiet, the two of them staring at each other through their phone screens.

 _“Ah,”_ Yuri softly exhaled, cheeks slowly gaining color for some reason. Otabek tilted his head slightly at that in a silent question.

Yuri took quite a while to reply.

 _“You actually were,”_ the other admitted, glassy green eyes looking at anywhere but the camera. _“Invited, that is. The invitation the idiot couple gave me had both our names on it.”_

Otabek blinked. _Oh_. “Oh,” he said softly, staring at Yuri who still wasn’t looking at him, cheeks now much darker than earlier.

Otabek could also feel his own cheeks heating up.

“Well, in that case,” he started, finally getting Yuri’s attention back. “I guess I could fly to Japan and attend the wedding with you.”

Yuri had beamed in response, completely unaware of how Otabek stuttered in response. Was it just him or did the flowers on Yuri’s head bloom further?

Two months later Otabek found himself standing in the middle of the arrivals in Narita airport, haggardly clutching his own carry on and another bag filled with his various musical equipment. A week after that conversation with Yuri, Viktor had called him and asked if he wouldn’t mind being in charge of the music for the wedding reception. Paid, of course.

He had agreed, of course he did, as it would be good exposure. He had been considering this career path further when he retires from competitive figure skating (though he wouldn’t say he was looking forward to it.)

As expected, Yuri gave him hell for agreeing.

“Beka!” the sound of his name being called had Otabek hurriedly emptying his hands in reflex. He dropped the bags, uncaring for whatever would happen, as he opened his arms.

Not a minute later, a body crashed against his, gangly arms and legs wrapping around his body as Yuri released an unbidden laugh, face buried on the side of Otabek’s neck as the blond murmured a relieved _“Finally.”_

Otabek could only huff a laugh in response, arms winding tighter around the Russian skater’s body.

 

* * *

 

The fourth time it happened had been when he was in Moscow, finally succumbing to Yuri’s numerous requests for Otabek to meet with his grandfather. By this time Otabek had already resigned himself as it being their thing. Apparently, someone has created an Instagram account solely for the purpose of documenting the instances that Yuri jumped on him. He has been shocked to discover it one day, when he was trying to figure out what Yuri found fascinating about the platform.

He was a nervous wreck when his private plane landed in Moscow. When he was at the arrivals section, he has been waiting for the sight of a familiar blond or getting a glomp attack. His agitated nerves had gotten worse when he had received Yuri’s message (with a map attached) telling him to just get on a taxi and head towards the address as the blond and his grandfather still preparing things for his visit.

When Otabek had finally managed to climb inside a taxi, it took him three tries to correctly stutter the address to the driver and had even twice asked if they could go around a certain path again.

If his etiquette teacher could see Otabek then, he would probably die from a heart attack.

Unfortunately though, such a morbid thought was the only thing that distracted Otabek from the impending doom that is meeting the esteemed Nikolai Plisetsky.

When he arrived at the Plisetsky home, it took him another embarrassing minute before he found the courage to open the car door and head towards the modest white washed house.  He had stalled a little too long  that the driver started muttering about his time getting wasted and all.

He made sure to give the driver a huge tip.

To think that people call him the Hero of Kazakhstan. How absolutely mortifying.

It was just his luck that when he finally knocked on the door, Nikolai Plisetsky had opened it, eyes immediately judging him from head to toe. As the Russian man led Otabek inside the house, he roughly informed Otabek that Yuri was at the supermarket to buy more milk, as they have ran out.

Otabek followed Nikolai, passing through the kitchen. He had been thinking of something to say when he saw three unopened boxes of milk lined up at the kitchen counter.

He had swallowed hard upon seeing that, eyes hurriedly evading Nikolai’s penetrative gaze.

When they arrived at the living room, Nikolai Plisetsky sat at the single seater sofa right across Otabek. The tension that permeated the air was thick enough to be cut by a knife.

“So you are Otabek Altin,” Nikolai suddenly hummed, making Otabek instinctively straighten up in his seat. Nikolai made no actions that betrayed his thoughts, merely continuing to gaze upon Otabek. “I don’t know if you are aware but my grandson talks a great deal about you.”

Otabek cleared his throat to make sure it won’t croak as he replied, "I had a feeling that he might be talking about me to you, sir."

Nikolai hummed, neither in approval nor disapproval.

Otabek thanked his lucky stars it was cold enough not to make him sweat.

“What exactly are your feelings or intentions towards my grandson?” Nikolai hadn’t beat around the bush, face remaining neutral despite the weight of the question he had just dropped.

Otabek certainly choked on his saliva at that one. He was now starting to have an idea at just how some people find his indifference a little unnerving.

“I care deeply about Yuri,” he carefully replied, taking great pains in making sure he was keeping eye contact with the old man. “And I certainly will not force him into anything he doesn’t want. I have already waited for all these years – what’s a few more in light of his inevitable response? Whether it be positive or negative, I will respect it.”

Nikolai merely continued to stare at him. This time, Otabek finally found the courage to stare back, though not maliciously.

Their gazes only broke apart when Yuri bursted through the door, loudly searching for Otabek as he had found the Kazakh’s shoes by the door.

Otabek was quick to stand and open his arms as Yuri jumped into his embrace.

“You’re finally here!” the blond joyously exclaimed, almost giggling as he nuzzled his face to Otabek’s neck. Otabek closed his eyes  to savor the feeling, lips automatically forming a fond smile as he replied with a simple “Yeah,” that earned him an annoyed huff and a soft bite on his shoulder.

When Otabek finally opened his eyes, he noticed Nikolai tenderly watching them. When their eyes met this time, the old man gave him a playful wink as he loudly exclaimed “No grand public displays of affections around me – Show some respect to your grandfather, Yuratchka!”

Yuri had turned redder than a rose at that proclamation, and had hurriedly ran towards the kitchen mumbling censored profanities that pulled some laughs from both Otabek and Nikolai.

When the afternoon rolled in, Yuri and Otabek ended up cuddling on the couch watching some over the top soap opera, and Nikolai took a nap at the rocking chair situated at the veranda.

Otabek honestly rethought just what exactly had made him so nervous earlier.

 

* * *

 

It had been during his birthday when Otabek finally acted.

He had just retired a year before, at the age of 27, and was now a chart topping DJ. The previous singles he had released both placing at the billboards top 15 within a week of their release.

It may not be exactly what Otabek had in mind since he expected to remain within the skating community even after he had retired, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t happy with how everything turned out.

Now he can show his unfailing support for Yuri without having to worry about receiving comments accusing him of betraying his own country.

He was busy setting up everything he’d need from his little booth that Yuri had set aside for him in preparation for the blond’s free skate the next day. The Russian man had asked Otabek to play live for what was about to be Yuri’s last free skate for his entire career, as he had decided to retire that season. Yuri reasoned out there was no more point in staying within the competitive scene when the other Yuuri, Viktor and even Otabek had already retired.

Besides, the Russian man had already reached his goal which was to surpass all of Viktor Nikiforov’s and Yuuri Katsuki’s records.

No other form of persuasion could sway the 25 year old from his decision, especially since he had just signed a yearlong modeling contract with a prominent brand last month.

A prominent _Kazakhstani_ brand.

Otabek honestly didn't know how to feel about it.

“Beka!” Speak of the devil and he shall appear, Otabek could feel the other’s familiar weight cling to his body, Yuri’s grinning face greeting him first thing as he turned his head to the side.

He was quick to mimic the other. “Yura,” Otabek breathed. “Excited for your last program?”

Yuri nuzzled Otabek’s cheek before resting his head on the Kazakh’s shoulders. “Not really. I don’t honestly think I could ever get over the ice but I _am_ getting tired so at the same time I can’t wait for this to be over.”

Otabek closed his eyes and rested his head on top of Yuri’s, reminiscing all those moments when he was still on the ice. “I know what you mean.”

When he opened his eyes, Yuri’s long nail had dug into his cheek as the blond pouted. “What are you complaining about, asshole? Unlike me, whose whole world would always revolve around the ice despite my current modeling stint, you look absolutely wonderful off it. These days had me wondering if indeed you belonged to the ice or you had just wasted twenty some years of your life on it.”

Otabek shrugged the other off his back in mock annoyance, playfully glaring at the Russian. “You know exactly how much I struggled when I decided to retire so don’t give me that bullshit. Besides,” he shrugged, letting the other wonder just what exactly the shit-eating grin currently forming on Otabek’s lips was about. “The ice would always hold a special place in my heart. After all, through skating is how I met you.”

Much to his surprise, instead of bursting out into laughter and tease him for the sappiness, Yuri had remained silent. His face slowly gained color as he moved closer to Otabek and fixed the lapels of his jacket. Otabek only followed him with his eyes, remaining standing, letting the other generally do whatever he wanted.

Not that he hadn’t, in the first place.

“Happy birthday,” Yuri stated, smiling so softly at him. It was such a soft smile  and Otabek wished desperately that his heart would feel fluffy too. Instead, the traitorous piece of muscle started beating harder, pumping blood so fast, making him feel lightheaded.

Really, Otabek would never doubt the fact that ultimately, Yuri would be the death of him.

“Sorry I wasn’t able to prepare a gift though,” the blond frowned, staring intently down at Otabek’s chest, for the other was now a few good inches taller than him. “Got too distracted by this whole retirement business.”

Otabek merely smiled at that. It always amused him how Yuri still insisted on giving him gifts regularly during special occasions, despite knowing he pretty much has everything he could wish for, and has more than enough money to buy anything else. This was actually the first time since they had become friends that the other hasn’t given him anything for his birthday.

But that’s alright. Otabek knew what he wanted for this year anyway. Something he had been wanting since he was 13 years old that could never be bought by money.

And he said this to the other too, merely receiving a confused “Huh?” before he cut Yuri short by snaking his hand other the blond’s long neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

Otabek fondly watched the other’s eyes widened as he finally registered what was going on.

When they finally pulled away, Yuri gaped at him.

“W-wh-wha-?”

“I’ve been in love with you all this time, in case you didn’t know,” Otabek answered, expression getting more affectionate by the second while Yuri’s face turned redder.

 _“You-!”_ Yuri hissed as he buried his face into Otabek’s neck, arms tightening around his back, fingers digging into his sides.

Otabek paid the slight pain no mind as he released a full blown laugh.

A moment later, Yuri bit hard on his neck before muttering a soft “I love you too, asshole.”

Otabek swore Yuri was, and always will be, the greatest gift he ever received.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: In response to the “Altins, a family that had been ruled over by dominating women for over more than a century” thing, I have this headcanon where the Altins are old money. Like, direct descendants of the Khans kind of old and therefore are filthy fucking rich and very influential. Crazy, I know, but it totally fits Otabek hahaha.


End file.
